


Ink-stained blue hearts

by TotemundTabu



Series: 30 THROBB SMUTS [16]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Dom Robb Stark, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Jealousy, Light BDSM, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Past Abuse, Possessive Behavior, Sub Theon Greyjoy, Tattoos, Top Robb Stark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-10
Updated: 2018-01-10
Packaged: 2019-03-03 06:27:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13335375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TotemundTabu/pseuds/TotemundTabu
Summary: prompt:  modern setting au, somehow Robb gets talked into getting a family tattoo with his siblings, when meeting his tattoo Artist he surprisingly develops a new tattoo and piercing kink. Tattoo Artist Theon, past Ramsay, uses some of his tattoos to cover up scars.





	Ink-stained blue hearts

**Author's Note:**

> For the anon with the prompt about tattoos :D !  
> I want to thank my wife for correcting this as soon as she could despite being so busy at the Academy!
> 
> The quote is from Heart-Shaped Glasses, by Manson. Since the 5th was our birthday, I decided to exploit him a bit ;)

**Ink-stained blue hearts**

* * *

 

_Little girl, little girl, you should close your eyes:_

_that blue is getting me high, and making me low._

 

* * *

 

 

The dull sound of the electric guitar echoed and thundered in his ears, numbing him.

Robb looked around, quite lost.

The Seaworth tattoo shop was filled with drawings, images, photographs, almost all black and white, while the walls were a deep wine red; the chairs around were all black leather – there were some... quite peculiar trinkets and baubles lying around, like ornamental fake skulls in glass and something that looked like a candelabra with finger-bone shaped candles.

Robb raised an eyebrow, smiling, confused yet weirdly amused.

He was standing in the middle, looking around at the drawings – a hand looked so perfect, there were even calligraphy examples – that covered everything imagined. 

Robb was not exactly... good at drawing.

Unless that included stick figures, but he somehow doubted it.

But  _those_ , those were way better than simply good drawings.

They had a spark of sheer, pure, raw talent to them.

He heard a door opening from the back and then a low humming. Some song he had never heard –  _A furry vino tinted slave, molten oil painted Brooklyn bridge_ ; so he turned towards the black wooden counter just in time to see him coming from behind the door. 

Robb's jaw dropped, leaving his lips embarrassingly parted and his eyes blown black.

He was sure he had just witnessed the birth of a new, terribly thick and un-washable kink in his guts.

The man who had opened the door with his back just to then turn and meet his eyes was... intense.

He was keeping his gloved hands up, trying not to touch anything, but the rest of his body was anything but smudged. He had beautiful, black, long hair, pulled up in a messy bun, from which some locks escaped softly onto his shoulders, and his shoulders were wide yet sharp, a beautiful face, cheekbones one could cut an apple with, eyeliner around his thin, long eyes and black lipstick on a mouth made to be bruised by kisses, and piercings on his lips, eyebrows and nose, plus enough metal on his ears to destroy an airport security check, including something that connect two of the rings with a chain; Robb's glance went down, to his total black outfit, skinny as it can be without compressing vital organs probably, with a black on black design of a ribcage on the shirt, and the tattoos running on his arms, up to the neck, creating two beautiful canvases filled in horror vacui and greediness for ink – a thin strip of skin at the height of the Iliac crest that was left exposed from the accidental lifting of the shirt, showed he also had some under.

Robb felt suddenly very under-defined and underdressed; he was that kind of clean boy who always liked music without falling into connected fashion trends or aesthetics too much, a bit because of how lazily comfortable and splendid it was keeping a flannel t-shirt, blue jeans lifestyle.

Instead, in front of him, there was someone who seemed to have been dressed for a music video or a photoshoot.

And, when he smirked, Robb knew he was sold.

Damn, he had the type of smirk one wanted to melt into a moaning gasp.

The man chuckled, winking, “Ex-girlfriend's name to erase?”

“Uh? – _uh? really Robb? This is your smooth reaction, really?_ , he coughed – No, I, hm, am here for a tattoo.”

He chuckled again, raising his eyebrows and taking off his gloves, “Virgin?”

“Is it that evident?”

“Kind of. - he admitted, in a laugh – But it's not bad, we all are at a certain point.”

Robb smiled, “So... umh, I'm Robb...”

“Theon. - he smirked, then invited him closer by moving two fingers towards him – Come here, let me see what you have in mind.”

Robb nodded, moving closer, but his eyes kept falling on the man himself, his body, how pale he was, how the veins and the ink played together on the skin, how his muscles bent and... Robb swallowed, forcing himself to give it up.

He was probably not gay.

He knew enough about people that were into his kind of music to get that the lack of gender conformity was not necessarily a sign of being queer. 

“Ah, hm, it's a... family thing.”

He gave him a questioning look as if he had expected Robb to be a bit more specific.

“So, hm, I moved here alone. - he said, scratching his nape, smiling – My brothers and sisters are all still in Dublin, which is not far away, but, you know, it's not behind the corner. And we all wanted to get something together, but that... well, it's a mess because we can barely decide one movie to watch together, you know? Without... fighting because all of us like different things.”

Theon leaned on his hand, resting his arm on the counter, “Go on.”

“So... like the only thing we’ve ever agreed on were dogs. And this is kind of funny, like my dad... - his voice broke a moment but he laughed it off – He used to always complain we couldn't agree to do anything together, and that day he was complaining too all the road up to this fair, like, you know those fairs with... parks and wheels and that shit, well... and we, we had fun I think, I mean I did, I got my sister Sansa a plush at one of those merry go rounds where if you stand up at the right time and grab it you can get the plush and... anyway. - he shook his head and the man smiled at that, almost tender through the black – But like my brother Bran I think hated it? Jon definitely hated it.”

“How many...”

“Five.”

“Fuck. - he snorted – Do your parents know about condoms?”

“Catholics.”, Robb said with a little embarrassed grin.

“Fair enough.”, he seemed to understand.

And licked his lips.

The black didn't bulge, but something inside Robb's pants surely did.

“And... - he swallowed – Well, when we were going back from the fair we found this little puppy ring and... we found six pups and they were the last ones left and my father said it was the first time we all agreed on anything ever and it was getting those puppies.”

Theon chuckled, “I think your mom disagreed plenty on cleaning after six children and six dogs.”

“She did. - Robb laughed, crystalline, amused by his sincerity – But she got used to it.”

“So... you all opted for a dog tattoo?”

“Of our dogs, yes. - Robb smiled, thinly – And each of us kind of got it made in their own style because, then again...”

“You couldn't agree on one.”

“Exactly. Jon did his in a... you know that... Tim Burton cartoon with the ghost dog?”

“Nightmare before Christmas or Frankenweenie?”

“...are there two?”

“Then Nightmare before Christmas. - he seemed to actually enjoy speaking to him and smiled – Go on.”

“Sansa, she's a romantic so she did this fake watercolor thing and... Bran did it geometrical because he is into math, he's actually real good at it, he wants to become an architect to design these skyscrapers and, uh, Arya had her samurai print inspired thing, half oriental. - he gestured a bit to indicate what Theon interpreted as the curls of a decorative vegetal motif behind the animal – And Rickon did the... goriest thing I’ve ever seen but...”

“...and you?”, he said, moving forward.

He smiled so curiously and his eyes shone that much that Robb found it hard to gulp down.

“Ah, I... don't... know.”

“No definite aesthetic?”, he asked, knowingly, after taking a good look at him.

Robb smiled, and he let his shoulders drop, then scratched the back of his neck again, “My boy... Grey Wind, he... kind of died and I'm still not sure how to get over it.”

Theon blinked, standing up straight.

“Fuck. Dude. I'm sorry.”

“It's okay. I mean. - he laughed, nervously, biting his bottom lip – Actually it happened when I was sixteen but... the years haven't made it as easy as I thought they would.”

Theon's eyes shone weakly.

“Some things never go away. But, for the matter... - he smiled – There is also something cathartic, in ink. It doesn't have to disappear or hide things. It can be... in a state of digesting it.”

“Like a monument?”

“Like a monument.”

Robb found himself so tempted to ask. But he shut up.

If he wanted this guy to tattoo him, he couldn't risk making him uncomfortable by asking if he was gay or not.

He smirked so nicely and Robb found his eyes dropping on the lip piercing and, then, as the tip of Theon's tongue came out slightly, on the little silver balls Robb could catch a glimpse of.

His brain forgot it was not supposed to imagine a stranger's tongue on the head of his cock.

He wondered if he had more... around.

Robb stood straighter, as he heard Theon laugh.

Theon bit his bottom lip slowly, “Which do you like?”, he asked.

Robb tried to avoid replying  _you_ . He cleared his voice and gestured vaguely at the mouth.

Theon laughed and pointed out each separately with his fingers, “The side labret? The Monroe? The Venom bites?”

“...they have names?”

An adorable snort.

“Yes, they do. - a grin, he bit his black, full lips – Do you want one of these too?”

“Ah... umh.”

_Yours, against my lips. Making out._

“Are you always this articulate? - a smirk, he raised his eyebrows – Wonderboy?”

Robb swallowed, letting out an awkward laugh, “Anyway, uh, I... don't know if they would suit me.”

Theon smirked, “Piercings and tattoos are personal. For sure there is one that fits you, it all depends on if you feel enriched by it.”

Robb let out a small chortle, “What if I were a bit against pain?”

“Just feeling it or also giving it?”, Theon inquired, eyes of fire.

Robb stiffened, feeling his crotch twitch. He laboured to swallow, while his throat clenched and he nodded weakly, blinking.

“... the first seems more attaining to tattoos.”, he chickened out.

But Theon seemed to understand his expressions more than listen to his words, thank luck, so he smiled again.

“Well, if you decide for a prince Albert, I can do it for free.”, he chuckled, biting his bottom lip slightly.

Robb felt his blood rush down as Theon's glance fell on his crotch.

He never thought in his life that being ignorant of the meaning of a piercing’s name would have tormented him so; yet, he felt he had caught the suggestion somehow.

Theon's eyes lingered just a moment more and then he moved back to looking at his notebook, “Why don't you tell me which styles you may like... - he took a black pen from his pants pocket and Robb realized just then how smooth and dark as ink his hair was – What do you do in life, stuff like that. - he raised his eyes from the paper - … promise I won't stalk you.”

Robb smiled, bright and shy, “Well, I'm a classicist, actually.”

“Uh?”

“I work at the archaeology department, ancient greek semiotics and iconography.”

Theon let out an impressed whistle, “You're a nerd.”

Robb stiffened and let out a small, awkward groan, “I'm … not.”, he replied, unconvincing.

Theon grinned wide, “Then we need to make you some greek-roman decorative shit.”

Robb didn't have the heart to tell him that “greek-roman” sounded like heresy and that the two were drastically different and how many greek styles existed, but he was so enthusiastically sketching on his block that Robb didn't have the courage to tell him as much as a  _no_ .

He leaned on the counter, staring at him drawing, while smiling and replying to any question Theon had about Grey Wind.

 

*

 

“Are you sure?”, Theon asked, staring at a very rigid, marble-level petrified Robb Stark on the chair.

Robb nodded, nervously, and let out a laugh, “Of course! I am so sure!”

Theon frowned, unconvinced.

“Maybe we should start with something smaller... - he suggested – Since it's a first time.”

“Go big or go home, it's my motto.”, Robb grinned tensely.

Robb was very much a “I'll grab all eight groceries bags by myself and I will be taking care of everyone so they will love me” type person, but the actual reason was way simpler: the bigger the tattoo the more time spent with Theon.

He never said it was a good reason.

Anyway, Theon had designed for him a beautiful wolf inspired to Attic ceramic vases and he had then proceeded to work on an intricate, half vegetational, Bacchus-themed motif around it to be entwined with a geometrical one. Theon's hand had been so attentive of the actual styles that Robb could bet that he had looked at tons of art books or pictures before finishing it.

It would have covered his deltoids and then rose up to his whole shoulder and descend to half of the arm.

Hours of work. Hours of Theon. Hours of needles.

Robb was not exactly afraid of needles, his perception of pain was quite low. And the little pistol gun was almost fascinating, the drawing was perfect, Theon was massaging his skin.

The problem was Robb was immensely ticklish.

Like horribly, horribly ticklish.

He kept biting his lips, praying to keep still while his arm just wanted to rip away from Theon's hands and jolt. Theon stared, confused.

“Is it hurting too much? - he asked – Painkillers dilute blood, so I shouldn't, but if you need it...”

Robb shook his head, “No, no it's fine.”

“...you sure?”

“...can you tie me up?”

Theon blinked, eyes wide.

“What.”

Robb bit his lips, cursing himself, “Not... in that sense. - a groan – I'm ticklish. Do you have a belt or something to tie my arm still?”

Theon chuckled, “Aren't you cute?”

A weird madness took him darkly.

And he opted to risk it.

“...am I?”

Theon's eyes gleamed and his eyelids fluttered slightly. He smiled, sucking his painted lips, before returning to drawing.

“Let's say that if you were into the tying thing, I wouldn't oppose.”

Robb blinked, gulping down hard.

“Oh.”

“Though. - and then Theon glanced at him, hotly – I would rather you tie me.”

Robb swallowed dryly, forcing himself to sound somewhat smooth and not like he’s about to twitch due to the tickling or explode out of the need to kiss him.

“You'd let me?”

Theon bit his bottom lip, “Why would I have told you, otherwise? You think me so cruel?”

“I think you’re too beautiful.”

“Now, you flatter better than you stay still, for sure.”

Robb let out a chortled groan, his nails sinking into the chair to keep his arm still. His eyes had wet corners.

“You know you're adorable when you're all tense.”, Theon observed without looking at him.

“I'm glad you're having fun.”

“The best in a while. - Theon admitted in a flirty chuckle – Let me finish the wolf, we will do the rest another time.”

Robb stared at Theon's bun, at the way his hair escaped from it softly, delicately falling onto his face in strings of shadowy silk.

Messy was hardly the word. Even the mistakes and chances seemed wanted, as disharmonic notes in a symphony.

“How did you start?”

“Tying up?”

Robb choked, scoffed, let out a strangled, awkward, amused, “Tattooing.”

“Oh. What a shame. - Theon faked surprise, curling his lips up, before sucking them – I had scars to hide.”

Robb frowned.

“Scars?”

“Car crash.”, he mumbled, without precising further, lowering his look.

Robb's chest clenched.

“...you don't look... like you got hit anywhere, for what it’s worth.”

Theon's glance fell on him again and lingered, hot, intimate in its silence. And Robb swallowed, trying to force himself to control a choked down laugh.

“Are you trying to compliment me again, Stark?”

“Robb.”

“Robb.”

He smiled, looking at Theon half-enchanted and half-bewitched.

“Which was your first?”

Theon shook his head, stopped tattooing, and looked at Robb, “You won't let me work, will you?”

Robb seemed to blush out of shame.

Theon then put the gun on a little table on wheels next to him and started to undo his black shirt, making Robb's heart jump to his throat in a punching, drumming sound.

Theon opened the shirt fully, but didn't take it off.

His nipples were both pierced and so his navel. On the skin there were many different tattoos: he recognized a kraken whose tentacles melted in dark waves, some writings, most probably lyrics, a black, solar monstrance with a heart instead of the central Eucharistic gift, a Goya's Chronus eating his children, and then, right where the heart was supposed to be, his own name in something that from the stokes Robb could imagine to be his own handwriting. He found it weird, and yet. It made sense.

It's the only name and person one can't ever forget.

And the one one forgets more often, following or even living for others.

Robb swallowed with difficulty.

Under the ink, beyond the signs, he was beautiful.

Scarred or smooth, pale or navy blue. He was the moon in the night – it had just emerged, gracefully and blinding all the same.

Theon's Adam’s apple twitched and his bony hands trembled, then, suddenly, he moved again to the shirt, as if he had just then realized what he had done, and seemed to need to close it. Robb moved up, his hands forward.

His fingertips brushed the back of Theon’s hand ever so slightly, before stopping mid-air.

Theon licked his lips, slowly.

“Ah...”

Theon's eyes lowered and rose again. “Yes?”

A hint of a smirk.

Robb didn't fail to keep his eyes nailed on him, stubbornly mesmerized.

“...the first.”

Theon's lips widened in a charming grin.

“Theon. - he replied – My name.”

“It's a good one.”

“You have to know your name.”

Robb's hand moved, slowly, and went on the soft skin. Theon shivered, but didn't back, smirking, tempted more than confident, at feeling Robb's warm hand caressing the letters.

And they burnt afresh like they had been made by a red iron brand.

White-hot thunder crossed him apart.

And the absence on his lips from Robb not kissing him hurt, leaving behind a bruising numbness.

Robb's fingers traced each letter, before recurring on them again and resting on the T, right above the nipple, a second too long.

His wrist was so close...

“Robb?”

“Yes?”  
“The fuck are you waiting for?”

Robb raised his eyes from Theon's tattoo and smiled.

“I have no idea.”, he admitted and, moving forward, grabbed Theon close and pulled him into a kiss. His tongue pushed through the black lips and found before bites then moans.

 

*

 

Theon would sing often, low-voiced and dark, in the room, after they had sex, when he thought Robb was asleep or that the afterglow had made him deaf from bliss.

He would also hum, more often, when resting his head on Robb's wide chest, caressing it, scratching it.

And Robb loved Theon's voice.

He loved it when it rose high and drenched, when Theon's skin burned under silk rope.

He loved it when it shattered glass and flame, when Theon would moan under the whip.

He loved it when it writhed ethereal and obscene, when Theon begged him to fuck him.

There was something like a spell to it or like the quiet, wild murmuring of rain, that made Robb feel like something sacred was there in each sound and beyond each word.

He used to sing one in particular, kissing his eyelids, and then running his hands onto Robb's chest, greedily.

Robb would rush to kiss him, drag him by the neck, bite it, flesh and lips and muscles, and stick and drown his teeth into him, to extract all the desperate moans Theon could make.

And the way he bent, arched, asked for more, on the verge of frenzy each time, was an addiction.

Robb's tattoo was completed soon enough.

His appetite, though, was never sated.

And Theon had been sure it would have been, one day, that they would have stopped fucking, pulling and pushing each other on beds and tables, panting breathlessly and ruthlessly thrusting.

But it was never enough.

Their faces would brush against each other, their noses finding their twins and exploring the empty space and the scorching flesh, before dragging and catching each time over and over.

Until any kiss melted in another.

And it would feel good marking each other. Beyond ink and bruises.

That day too, it was like that; and after it, Theon rested again on Robb’s chest that was now “his space” and breathed in the light air, Robb played delicately with one of his nipple piercing, as if it confused him deeply, but he was smiling like a kid with a toy. Theon smiled.

“What are you thinking about?”

“Did it hurt?”

A chuckle, “Have I given you the fallacious impression that pain is a hard limit for me?”

Robb snorted, “I know it's not. - he chuckled – But... still... you did all of this. Weren't you afraid of the pain?”

Theon's eyes lowered.

“I stopped.”

“Why?”

A shrug. A laugh.

“When I was flogged the first time.”

Robb recognized the lie, but swallowed and smiled weakly. He had knocked on a closed door, at times, but he didn't want to open Theon up like a paper ribcage.

“I was serious.”, he just said.

And he caressed Theon's hand, where, on some fingers, there was a circular ring like scar, still visible under the black ink on them.

As if someone had cut them.

“... I wanted the truth.”

Theon didn't look at him.

“The truth, the truth. - he mocked – The truth is you need to grab my wrists and fuck me again.”

Robb frowned, but didn't move away.

“Do you take me for a toy?”, he asked, almost offended.

“You're the one who takes this for a game.”

Theon bit and sucked Robb's nipple, dragging a hot scream out of him.

Robb pushed their mouths together and spun Theon on the bed, stopping, pressing on him with his weight and taking over his mouth.

It was always beyond sex with Theon.

It was devouring each other.

There was a part of Theon that made him seem otherworldly.

There was how beautiful, how precise his boy was – covered in ink and he, himself, so beautiful- he was more art than person.

And the metal on him shone under the light of candles as they let droplets drip on his shivering skin.

Robb would push his tongue into Theon's navel, twisting and licking where the little ring was, he would bite and drag blood off his hips, getting out of Theon the most elated, ecstatic smirks and moans.

And Robb brushed with his thumbs the piercings on the nipples, cutting the cherry of flesh open, split like Theon's ass, as he drove and thrust into him, madly and deeply.

And Theon's voice would rise higher than the sky.

While his skin filled with a constellation of bruised purple and abused yellow.

Robb would smack his ass with paddles, forced anything through him – cock, bottles, fists, Theon swallowed them all, throwing his head back and begging for harder, for faster, for rougher, for more. And no more was ever enough.

And Robb knew that made them the same.

Theon a wanton, him an animal – he would tear into his flesh and tie it and mark him all over and yet he needed to do it again and again, because as the signs would fade from his skin, Robb would feel his guts clench and twist and burn.

There was not any way he could bear Theon not belonging to him.

As inhuman and horrible as it was, sinking into Theon, widening him, claiming him and marking him with pleasure had become a hunger more deafening and torturing that the physical one.

He would have starved rather than abandon him.

He scratched Theon's back at times, dragging blood, fucking him harder, taking delight in seeing Theon writhe and squirm, a gagball muffling his moans, while his eyes would fill with tears from the stimulation turning him raw and thundered.

And he'd jerk his ringed cock, forcing him through spasms and arches and delight and pain, as he'd almost come and then have the release denied.

He loved that, drilling into Theon's prostate, jerking him, dragging him over the edge, and then slipping out, spanking him, whipping him, and staring at the panting, wet, hard, hot mess he had made of Theon.

He'd rip the gag out and order him to beg. And Theon would.

And when Theon came and spilled and let out all of his arousal, he'd weep and curl against Robb and kiss him deeply.

Power and control were the tastes of love.

And the balsamic saltiness of the navy blue ink.

 

*

 

Robb would come and spend his free afternoons at Theon's tattoo shop.

He loved that.

Theon would stop wearing headphones and instead put music on the speakers, even when clients were not in. And Robb had started to learn something of it.

And he'd bring papers and essays to correct and he'd show Theon pictures and Theon would smile and copy the styles.

“What's this one?”

Robb smiled, “I love this one... it's Praxiteles' Apollo Sauroktonos.”

“Apollo Sauronwhat?”, Theon scoffed.

“Lizard-killer.”

“Well, that’s an important quality for a boyfriend. - Theon smirked – Though it doesn't compensate much... another quality, down there.”

Robb rolled his eyes, groaned, of course Theon would comment that.

“He is represented as an ephebe. He is not developed yet.”

“Tragic.”

“You are such a Bacchus.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”, Theon asked, flirting, biting his bottom lip.

He didn't wear lipstick that day, but somehow that spurred Robb's blood just harder. Seeing the piercings against the wet, pulsing, swollen, pink lips … he considered tying Theon to the tattoo chair and forcing his cock deep into that throat.

“Anyway. - Robb cleared his voice, forcing away the thoughts – It's a metaphor.”

“Of course.”, Theon said, all thick in sarcasm and fake surprise, then laughing crystalline.

Everything to Robb was a metaphor. That boy was all seafoam and autumn leaves in his head.

“Apollo was famous because he could diffuse plagues with his arrows, but, of course, he also had the purifying function of erasing them.”

“So he made the mess and fixed it?”

Robb flushed, “That's not the... well. - he frowned – I suppose. Anyway. - he smiled as he saw Theon laughing again – Apollo is about to shoot the lizard with his arrow, so he's protecting mankind from epidemics and sickness.”

“I see. - Theon said, with a little smirk – But I care more about how pretty the shape is.”

“Nothing compared to you.”

Theon snorted, “He's a god, c'mon. - then he bent his head – Although, in a certain aspect...”

“He is an ephebe!”

“Okay, okay, now they call them in that way, apparently.”

Robb laughed, passing a hand over his eyes, while almost tearing up. “God, you're awful, I love you.”

Theon froze.

Robb swallowed, gulping down the silence.

“Well. - he bit his lip – I think I made it awkward.”

Theon blinked, slowly, “A... bit.”

Robb shook his head and hand, forcing himself to send away the sadness he felt creeping in. Theon was not answering.

He knew he wouldn’t have.

And yet. It hurt all the same.

“I get it. - Robb chuckled – It's too soon.”

Theon looked down.

“That's... not the problem.”

Robb was sure he felt his heart cut in two. His muscles squeezed and tore inside, his heartbeat drumming as loud as a storm and then extinguishing in silence.

“Oh.” is all that came out, tired, weak, thin from his lips.

“No, no, no! - Theon said, quickly, grabbing his hands – Not like that. Idiot. Fucking idiot.”

Robb raised his eyes, meeting Theon's.

He realized only by a droplet on his hand that he had been crying.

Theon's hand caressed his cheek, “I... - he closed his eyes, swallowed, and seemed to count internally to find the courage – My … last serious relationship was... messy.”

“Messy?”

Theon's bottom lip quivered.

“There was no car crash. - he smiled, hysterical and metallic, the edges and corners so sharp Robb was sure they could tear through the air, Theon's voice was a choked whisper – He filled me with scars. All over.”

Robb blinked.

Then took it in. He let the bitter horror sink.

All the tattoo spots. All the black parts. All the needed covers.

Wrath boiled through his veins. And jealousy too, slimy and vulgar and true too.

Someone had hurt Theon that deep and that eternally.

More than he would have ever had.

And with malice.

He felt sick.

Theon bit his lip, “I left because one day he cut two of my fingers off. I... - he laughed, tearing up and forcing himself to look away from Robb – I waited until he had left home and then ran to the hospital. I... - his voice hiccupped – I was... I don’t know how I could have stayed that long.”

Robb frowned, moving a hand to caress Theon's. Theon flinched, for the first time.

And Robb knew it meant Theon was never as naked as in that moment.

No amount of sex was as intimate as even thinking or speaking about this guy; it made him sick.

“Ramsay. He... - Theon continued – He is in jail and I wanted to hide them all. - he smiled, weakly – The tattoo shop owner made them all for free, on the condition I'd train with him because he wanted to retire and … - he looked around and breathed in – And then he left me this.”

“So... Seaworth.”

“It was his name.”, Theon concluded.

Robb breathed in, nodding slowly.

“So... - he then let out in a chocked, strangled, bitter laugh – How does tattooing your whole body due to this dude help you forget him?”

Theon frowned, horrified. Hurt, Robb realized a bit too late.

“It's not about forgetting. It's about not seeing him on me.”

“So you don't want to forget.”

Theon chuckled, “God, you're a jerk. - he whispered – I don't need tattoos to forget Ramsay.”

“Then what?”

Robb didn't notice he was yelling, until he stood up and the chair fell from behind him with the force of his push.

“You did that, you fucking idiot. - Theon shouted – You were making me forget him.”

Robb stopped.

His heart felt pain again. But it was something.

Tension tore through his veins, his nerves alight, as he realized how he behaved, and he shook his head.

“I'm sorry, I...”

“Get out.”

“What.”

“Get out.”, Theon repeated, looking stubbornly away from him.

Robb moved forward, tried to grab his hand, to... he didn't even know. “Theon, please, I...”

“Get out. - Theon repeated, louder, tears in his eyes, panting – I have work to do here. Go... go home.”

He scratched his eyebrow and turned. The piercings there hurt.

Robb obeyed, moving away.

“I'm sorry.”, he repeated once again, before closing the door behind himself.

 

*

 

When he heard the door opening, Robb felt his face light up and he rushed to the living room, smiling.

It didn't even feel real.

“Theon...?”, he asked, smiling.

“Yeah, it's me. - he smiled back, though weakly, he looked pale – I needed to see you.”

“...are you breaking up with me?”

Theon raised an eyebrow, “Because of a fight? Are we sixteen? - he laughed – No, I'm not breaking up with you, I'm not masochist in _that_ sense.”

Robb moved closer, grabbed him by the waist and pulled him close until contact broke them into one and Theon threw his arms around his neck, desperate and greedy as he was.

“I'm sorry...”, Robb panted, shaking his head, eyes watery. “I was an idiot.”

Theon smiled, his eyes shining too, and let out a thin laugh that tasted like a metallic weep.

He rubbed his eyes red.

“You were. I was too.”

“You really weren't. - he sighed, shaking his head – I was horrible, I got jealous instead of seeing it as it was for you, as a way to... overcome things. I just felt unimportant.”

Theon smiled, smug and entendered.

“You're a major idiot.”

“I am. - Robb admitted, breathing out, letting his shoulders drop – Will you ever forgive me?”

Theon smirked.

Then he opened his shirt and Robb glanced, almost dragged by magnets, to an area that looked different from before.

Right above his left hipbone.

Two simple lines, in his handwriting. Like only his name was.

_That blue is getting me high, and making me low._

Robb blinked, frowning. He knew that one.

“...it's the...”

“The one I hum to you after sex? - Theon asked, grinning, but sucking his lips – Yes, it is.”

Robb could barely contain his grin widening, bright, shining like a child's smile.

“... there was no scar there.”

“No. - Theon smiled – This one didn't need to hide anything. It is for showing.”, he moved and kissed Robb on the lips, softly, then pulling his bottom lip and letting it slip out slowly.

Robb's eyes shone.

“I... I don't get it, I don't deserve it.”

“It's not about deserving. - Theon pinched Robb's arm, making him ouch out loud – I can't say things the way you do, so let me say them in my own way.”

Robb's eyes lit up.

He grabbed Theon tighter, hands running on his skin, cupping him close.

“I love you too.”, he whispered.

Theon smirked against his lips.

“Will you show me the old fashioned way, Stark?”

 

 


End file.
